Harry Potter and the Child of Apathy
by XxMeWxX4444
Summary: Harry is perpetually, irrevocably, unimaginably bored. He cares naught for anything or anyone, finding little interest in the things around him. Before the arrival of his Hogwarts letter, Harry found his life monotonous. Now with the discovery that he was a Wizard, will Harry's interest levels peak? Or will he continue to be the stoic boy he has always been.


Harry James Potter was bored.

He's been perpetually uninterested since he was a toddler. Nothing held his interest for long, nor did he particularly _care_ for one item above another. No, Harry Potter was _bored_ , and no one could find out why.

Not that the Dursleys actually _cared_ , but the school staff did, and their concerns caused questions that the happy, _normal_ family would rather avoid. So they questioned their young, unwanted charge and were faced with the truth: Harry James Potter was irrevocably, unimaginably _bored_ , and there was nothing they could do about it.

The ultimate child of apathy, Harry simply did not _care_ about any _thing_ or any _one_ around him.

Thus, it was this stoic child that Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was faced with when she arrived at Number 4 Privet Drive two days later.

The Hogwarts Letter had arrived like any other piece of post, and Harry had been sent from the kitchen table to pick up the stack that had been delivered that morning. When he had found the first – and only – letter that had ever been addressed to him, Harry had felt a faint spark of interest. So it wasn't a surprise when he slipped the letter under the door of the cupboard under the stairs without a sound. The cupboard was essentially his bedroom, and no one went in there other than him.

Returning to the kitchen with the other letters, Harry had gone about his day normally. Eating his small portion of breakfast, he was sent out into the garden to begin his long list of chores while his cousin, Dudley Dursley, retired to the couch to watch some cartoons on the TV.

Hours passed and it wasn't until dinner was completed and the dishes were washed that the stoic child returned to the cupboard, closing the door without a word to his relatives. Petunia Dursley, his blood-related aunt, locked the door on her way to the staircase, and Harry settled down on the dingy, moth-eaten mattress that had been stuffed into the cupboard. Running a hand curiously over the floor, he found the rather thick letter and hid it under his uncomfortable, flat pillow and laid back in preparation to wait.

An hour passed before the pre-teen could hear the chainsaw-like snores from Dudley and his father, Vernon. Petunia's were of a higher pitch, but he could hear them as well in between the males' exhales.

Considering it safe enough, Harry reached a hand back, carefully running a hand over the few items that were stored in the cupboard with him. Finding the flashlight he was searching for, Harry sat up, crossing his legs and pulling the letter into his lap.

Flicking on the light, Harry gazed at the melted wax baring a crest. It was rather odd, with for animals separated by a cross and a ribbon imprinted with Latin sitting under it. There was a large H in the center of the cross, and Harry idly wondered what it meant.

Turning the letter over, he was amused to note the address was imprinted for his cupboard. _Well, they must be rather well informed._

Opening the letter – carefully and without too much sound – Harry pulled out the thick paper, absently remembering that it was called parchment. Opening it, Harry was faced with an acceptance letter and a supply list, along with a tangle of confused emotions.

After rereading the letter thrice, Harry flicked off the flashlight and lay back on the dingy mattress as his thoughts reeled. It wasn't every day that you were accepted to a so-called magical school, after all.

Clicking his tongue in consideration, the black-haired boy thought of how to respond. _'We await your owl'…owl? What the heck?_

Letting out a sigh, Harry decided that he might as well humor whoever the staff of Hogwarts was. Flicking on the flashlight once again, Harry turned to the shelves located over his bed and started looking towards the back. Finding the pen that he had swiped from Dudley's backpack during a fit of indescribable want, Harry pulled it down before sticking his hand under his mattress. It took a moment, but he eventually found the one-subject notebook he had stolen from a kid's backpack near the start of the school year. It had been during recess, and he had decided to stay within the classroom instead of face Dudley and his group of thugs.

Pausing to take note of three unmistakable snores, Harry began to write down his response.

 _Dear Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall,_

 _This acceptance letter to your school is rather surprising due to the fact that I had not the faintest clue that magic even existed. If you're simply one of Dudley's friends playing a trick, kindly sod off. If you're legitimately a school and you do teach magic, it would be nice to get some kind of demonstration._

 _A word of warning, perhaps. The Dursleys hate magic, so much so that even the word is banned in their household. Dudley was even whining about being unable to watch Doctor Who because the TARDIS is apparently too magical for his father's tastes._

 _Anyway, we'll see where this goes, I suppose._

 _Yours sincerely,  
Harry James Potter_

The letter used some of his larger vocabulary – gained through an excessive amount of time hiding and reading in the library to escape Dudley's gang – but if this lady was _really_ a Deputy Headmistress, then she should be fine. Nodding to himself, Harry stuck the note back in the envelope the parchment originally came in. Tucking the flap inside and using a scrap of tape from the roll he had snatched during Christmas time, Harry turned the envelope over. Making a double arrowed line between the return and send address to signify it should go back to its origin, Harry sat back in consideration.

Now how exactly was he going to 'owl' this?

Listening intently for his relative's snores, which he found after a few minutes to make sure Aunt Petunia was still asleep, Harry let out a sigh. His best chance would be to sneak outside and see if there was an _actual_ owl – a highly unlikely chance.

 _Oh well, I'll just stick have to find a way to sneak it into the post otherwise._ Shrugging to himself, Harry slipped out of his socks – which he wore at night in an effort to stay warm under his thin blanket – and once again reached his hand under his mattress.

Two minutes later, he was slipping out of the cupboard, sending a baleful glare at the sliding deadbolt. Really, it was such a nuisance to unlock.

Quickly and quietly stepping outside – and making triple sure that the door was only open by a minute crack – Harry stepped out into the night.

Careful to stay in the shadows, the green-eyed boy glanced around curiously. An owl, the letter had said. An _owl_. Owls were difficult to see in _daytime_ , so how was he supposed to locate one at night?

Letting out a sigh and wishing for the best, he held up the envelope high in the air and let out a whisper. "To, uh, Hogwarts?"

To his immense surprise, there was a sound of flapping wings before the envelope was ripped from his grasp. Flying away from the awestruck pre-teen was a large barn owl, which swiveled its head around to let out a simple _hoot_.

A grin slowly spread over Harry's usually stoic face and he couldn't resist a celebratory fist bump to the air. _Magic_. He thought in wonder, his mind seeming to caress the thought.

Coming back to his senses, Harry reasoned that he should return to his cupboard, _and then_ he would celebrate – quietly.

* * *

The preceding events were what led Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to be seen in her Animagus form, sitting rather rigidly on the Dursley's garden fence.

Watching Harry Potter, the famed child who had saved the Wizarding world from the likes of You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters, mowing the grass and being treated like a paid lackey made Minerva's blood boil. _This_ was how the child of Lily and James Potter was treated? Like an overworked _dog_?

Letting out an aggravated hiss to relieve herself of her anger, Minerva went back to watching the sweating boy.

She still remembered opening his response letter, expecting and dreading the excited, arrogant writing reminiscent of the boy's father. Imagine her surprise to find the rather languid style of writing young Harry had. He seemed utterly _dismissive_ about the whole event – completely the opposite of both his parent's response letters. Both of which had been filled with excited babbling and questions in between their confirmations of education enrollment.

Then the revelation that the Dursleys _hated_ magic and had _banned_ it from even being spoken within their home had been delivered. Minerva was furious. With them, with Headmaster Dumbledore, and with herself for believing the old man's words that it would be better for the boy to be raised by his own blood relatives. Blood Wards her left foot.

Though, she _could_ sense the powerful wards that sheltered the property. It was hard to miss, considering the amount of magic they exuded. She idly wondered if it was more of a beacon than anything else.

Letting out a sigh, Minerva once again allowed her focus to rest on the Boy-Who-Lived. He was weeding now, meaning that she would be able to communicate with him more easily.

Slipping down from the fence, she quickly trotted over, sitting in front of where he was ripping away the plant life. Mildly surprised eyes rested on her and Harry tilted his head in consideration. "Hello."

She let out a meow.

"Nice to meet you." Harry acknowledged, raising a curious eyebrow.

Resisting the temptation to roll her eyes – it was never easy to do so in this form – Minerva gazed at the soil beneath her paws and started drawing. It would be the simplest way to get her message across, after all.

* * *

Harry could only watch mildly as the stray cat started to draw in the dirt. After seeing the owl two days ago, he wasn't too surprised by another intelligent creature. Waiting until the cat meowed once more, Harry peered at the drawing.

There was a large letter H in the center of a cross, held within a rough sketch of a crest. Peering between the Hogwarts symbol and the strange cat, Harry let out a sigh. Peering around cautiously – because he really didn't feel like hearing Aunt Petunia's shrill voice any time soon – Harry spoke quietly. "Hogwarts, then?"

Nodding decisively, the cat let out another meow.

Taking the confirmation for what it was, Harry glanced around curiously. His chores were almost done, he just had to finish weeding, and then he would be done. He could probably disappear through the hole in the back fence like he normally did. Petunia didn't much care, so long as he was back in time to help prepare dinner after a five minute shower. As long as the garden chores were finished, anyway.

"Give me ten minutes. There's a whole in the back fence, near the left. I'll sneak out over there." Harry decided, turning back to face the tabby.

The cat let out a _mrrow_ , flicked its tail, and then trotted off among the flowerbeds.

Reflecting on how _odd_ his life had suddenly become, Harry continued weeding.


End file.
